Page 34 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)
Thirty-Three
THE PAIN NEARLY SEVERED HIS CHEST .
“Am I so undeserving of your mercy?” he said, drawing a hand over his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He turned his gaze up to the ceiling, beseeching. He could hardly keep the anguish from his voice, which had broken in disbelief. “Why are you doing this to me?”
She’d half-tucked herself into bed wearing some frothy, gauzy design held together by nothing but ribbons. Her breasts were all but bared to him through the sheer silk. He’d turned away before he might glimpse more, and already he wished he might be blinded, if only to experience relief.
“I don’t have any other sleep clothes,” she said quietly. “These are my only nightgowns. This is, in fact, the most proper of the options I brought with me, and they weren’t even articles of my own choosing— Your mother selected these for me—”
“Do you not own a dressing gown?”
“I forgot to pack it.”
“You forgot to pack it,” he echoed.
“Would that have made things better?” she said, irritation edging into her voice. “Would you expect me to sleep in a dressing gown? Or would you rather I put my corset back on? Lace myself back into layers of fabric? If you prefer, I can sleep in my shift, which is entirely transparent—”
“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe. “Of course not. Forgive me—I think I have to go—”
“Cyrus, these are perfectly suitable pieces for a wedding trousseau,” she said, sounding wounded.
“For heaven’s sake, we are married. I wasn’t trying to upset you.
I couldn’t have known that we’d be sharing such close quarters when I was packing—in fact, it hadn’t even crossed my mind that we might room together—”
“No, I know,” he said, reaching for the door. “You are not to blame in any way. I’m sorry, I just— Allow me to leave without conflict. I beg you, don’t follow me—”
He turned the handle and she leaped from the bed.
“I will make you no such promise,” she said sharply. “You cannot leave—”
“I must—”
“I forbid it,” she cried. “The soldiers patrol at all hours. You would be seen. You would disgrace me by abandoning me here, alone. This is our first real night together—our official wedding night—and everyone knows it. If you leave they would think you find me repulsive—”
He let his head rest, with a strangled sound, against the door, then banged his forehead lightly against it.
“Must it be like this?” she said, sounding very nearly heartbroken. “Can we not manage this together in peace? You are my husband—”
“I am not your husband,” he said angrily, turning, against his better judgment, to look at her.
She stood before him like a painting rendered, her cheeks flushed with color, glossy curls vivid about her shoulders.
He could sense the floral notes of her bath soap, the touches of perfume in her hair and at her pulse points.
She was angry and magnificent, her eyes sparking like flint, her breasts straining against silk as she struggled to breathe.
He wouldn’t allow his eyes to travel any lower, where he’d caught the shadows of more of her, the gauzy lengths of her nightgown falling, like gossamer clouds, to the ground.
He wanted to devour her.
“I am not your husband,” he said again, his voice ragged as he tore his eyes away. “You are not my wife.”
“We took vows,” she shot back. “The world now thinks of you as my husband—I now think of you as my husband—”
“You think of me as someone you’ve married.”
“That’s what I said.”
“That’s hardly the same thing.”
“How is it different?”
Cyrus laughed, but it was a dark, tortured sound. The blood in his veins had heated beyond reason. He felt seared from the inside. If only his heart might acquire another body, for this one had desperately failed him. It was incapable of containing him.
“If you were truly my wife,” he said roughly, “you would know the difference.”
“What does that mean?”
“Stop,” he said. “Don’t do this—I don’t care to have this discussion—”
“Then let us find a way forward,” she said desperately.
“Cyrus, I am not ignorant of the scars that await us. In fact I think of nearly nothing else. But I don’t know how long we’ll live together as husband and wife and I should like to at least find a way to move ahead as more than cold strangers—”
“No,” he said flatly.
When she spoke, her voice was frayed. “Why not?”
Now he felt well and truly unhinged.
“ Why not? ” he echoed. “Alizeh, do you not see that I am only flesh and blood? That I am only weakness and weakness strung together with bone?” His voice was rising. “Do you think me more than that? Do you think I can bear much more than this? Are you hoping to kill me with this speech?”
“No,” she said, horrified, taking a dangerous step forward. “I care for you a great deal—”
“You care for me?” he said. “If you cared for me you might spare me this torture—”
She’d drawn closer as he spoke, and Cyrus lifted his head without meaning to, the words dying in his throat as she came, once more, into view.
He finally lost the strength to look away.
He went still before her, breathless at the sight of her.
He looked at her like he might never have the chance again, recommitting every detail of her to memory.
Her radiance was staggering; her beauty unfathomable.
His eyes alighted upon the thin ribbons at her shoulders and he experienced a spasm in his chest so violent his head swam.
So little stood between them. Threads of clothing. Shreds of willpower.
“Please,” she said softly. “Don’t push me away.”
Cyrus felt the last of the light within him snuff out. “If you were truly my wife,” he said, “you would never need to say such a thing.”
“Cyrus—”
“Because if you were truly my wife, there would be no force on earth strong enough to keep me from you.”
She drew back, stunned.
They locked eyes then in an impassioned standstill, hers wide and searching, color flooding her cheeks. “What keeps you from me now?”
“ Alizeh ,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.
“I ask the question sincerely—”
“Stop.”
“Cyrus—”
“ Enough. ”
“I’m only trying to understand—”
“Would you ask me to debase myself?” he said wretchedly, his eyes flying open. “Would you have me touch you when your heart is not truly mine? When you are, in your head, quietly betrothed to another?”
She shook her head. “But— I don’t—”
“Would you ask me to pretend to be your husband now only to strip me of those rights in the morning, when I’m to shut my mouth and bind my own hands while another man touches you and laughs with you and makes plans to marry you right in front of me?
” He fought for control, his voice rising desperately when he said, “Do you really think I could survive it?”
“Cyrus, please— You know it’s not that simple—”
“Then pray do not complicate the situation further. Do not take from me what you cannot offer me in return. You need not ruin me utterly,” he said, nearly shaking.
“You need not reduce me to ash simply because you can. I beg you to know your own power. Show me mercy even if I don’t deserve it.
My life, my heart, my blood—they’re already yours.
Heaven knows I have nothing left to give you that isn’t already in pieces. ”
“Don’t say that,” she said, and she sounded close to tears.
“Please, I don’t want to ruin you— I don’t mean to hurt you— This is an impossible situation and I feel trapped—I don’t know how to fix any of it.
I only know that I don’t want it to be like this between us—I want you to know that I care for you—that you matter to me—”
Cyrus was hardly aware of himself when he finally closed the inches between them.
He’d not meant to do it.
He’d lost himself; indeed he felt outside of his mind in her presence, the sensual lines of her body shifting in and out of focus through hazy layers of silk. He touched her in a moment of madness, drawing an unsteady hand down the soft curve of her cheek with the reverence of a believer.
He saw nothing but her.
He wanted nothing but her.
He couldn’t fucking breathe.
She trembled visibly under his careful attentions, and when she lifted her eyes to his she was flushed and unsteady.
He was intoxicated by the delicate scent of her, the soft pink of her lips, the shudder of her breath, the satin of her skin.
Now that he was in her atmosphere he wanted nothing more than to surrender.
She looked up at him without cover, her eyes deep and vulnerable as he lost control by degrees, sliding his hand behind her head, his fingers combing the silk of her curls, his thumb skimming the softness of her jaw.
She gasped, her eyes darkening, and he felt the slight shake of his own hand as he struggled for self-possession.
He nearly separated from his soul in an effort not to touch more of her.
She whispered his name and Cyrus gently tilted her head and leaned in, his lips nearly grazing her skin as he said, softly—
“I will say this once, angel, for I feel you should be warned. No man alive has ever loved a woman the way that I love you, and I would rather die, damned as I am, than disgrace us both with the pitiful, unrequited performance of my heart.”